


You're the Same Kind of Bad as Me

by FaintlyMacabre



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Ballroom Dancing, F/F, Fake Marriage, Making Out, Non-Explicit Sex, Power Imbalance, Rule 63, Undercover as Married, discussions of consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaintlyMacabre/pseuds/FaintlyMacabre
Summary: In times of great stress, Jacobi sometimes experienced an almost superhuman clarity and awareness of her surroundings. That was part of what made her such a formidable demolitions specialist. Right now, it was making her very aware of Kepler’s unwavering spotlight gaze trained right on her, and of Maxwell, sitting behind Kepler, her eyebrows so high they were hidden under her hair.“I’m not going to lie, sir, I have so many questions,” Jacobi managed.“Then you are in the wrong line of work, Jacobi.”
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020





	You're the Same Kind of Bad as Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vachtar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vachtar/gifts).



> I hope you like this, vachtar! I had a lot of fun writing it! Title is from Tom Waits's _Bad As Me_. That doesn't have much to do with the fic, but, well, they're both awful. I love them.

“We’re going to what?”

“A party, Jacobi. I trust you’re familiar.”

“I mean, yeah, I’m familiar with the basic premise—people, music, alcohol, bad decisions—but I wasn’t aware you, uh, partied.”

“Well, this one is all that and a formal dress code—and a healthy dose of espionage!” Kepler handed her the invitation—damn, this was nice paper.

“Espionage?” Jacobi said. “This is addressed to _you_.”

“Keep reading.”

“Invited, blah blah, Saturday, the Hilton, hmm, black tie, and then there’s—” Jacobi stopped short. Over the tasteful font of the printed invitation, in the corner, was written in looping cursive: “Warren, do satisfy our curiosity and bring that mysterious wife of yours!”

Jacobi blinked at it. She blinked at it again. The inscription remained the same. “Sir,” she said, keeping her voice remarkably level under the circumstances, “what the hell?”

“Introducing the espionage.”

“And your… ‘mysterious wife?’”

“For the purposes of the party, that would be you.”

In times of great stress, Jacobi sometimes experienced an almost superhuman clarity and awareness of her surroundings. That was part of what made her such a formidable demolitions specialist. Right now, it was making her very aware of Kepler’s unwavering spotlight gaze trained right on her, and of Maxwell, sitting behind Kepler, her eyebrows so high they were hidden under her hair.

“I’m not going to lie, sir, I have so many questions,” Jacobi managed.

“Then you are in the wrong line of work, Jacobi.”

“No, I mean—” Jacobi was going to die, she was just going to die right here, and it would be Kepler’s fault. “I’m going to need to know stuff, about you, and about whatever person you’ve told them I—your wife is.”

“Of course you are.” A thin file dropped onto on her desk. “That’s everything you need to know about me. This goes without saying, but it doesn’t leave this room. You’re allergic to bees and shellfish. You’ll be fully briefed on the mission tomorrow. I think that’s everything.” She gave them both her usual, uniformly pleasant smile and walked out.

Once Kepler was gone, Jacobi’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from… Maxwell? Who was still in the room? The text contained two letters:

UM

Jacobi shook her head at her phone as she typed NOPE and hit send. Then she faceplanted straight onto the file on her desk, but it didn’t stop the room from spinning around her.

* * *

“So…” Jacobi had written down all the topics she needed covered, and a good thing, too. Not that she couldn’t stay focused, obviously she could stay focused through anything, but it gave her somewhere to look that wasn’t directly at Kepler. “How long have ‘we’ been married?”

“Two years,” was the immediate response. 

Jacobi raised an eyebrow. “Not very long.” She very firmly pushed away the knowledge that two years ago, Kepler had recruited her.

Kepler raised one right back. “When we met, I'd just risen to the rank of Captain; I had to put all my focus into my career. It also helped to look unremarkable in every way except in my performance as an officer if I wanted to get anywhere.”

“What changed?” Not on the list, but important.

“I met a beautiful, whip-smart woman with a killer sense of humor, of course.” Kepler’s smile was as bland and professional as ever—how did she do that? Well, it _was_ Kepler, and it was probably easier to act like you don’t care when you _actually_ didn’t care.

“Okay, uh, where and when?”

“Six years ago, at the opera.”

“I hate opera.” It came out automatically before Jacobi could hold it back. Kepler cocked her head to the side, giving her a look sharp enough to cut.

“What was that, Jacobi?”

“Uh, I mean, this is a high-society crowd, right?” Jacobi said, thinking quickly. “If we tell people we met at the opera, someone could try to talk to me about it, and I don’t know anything. I could not name you one opera right now if you put a gun to my head.”

“Oh, I have more faith in you than that,” Kepler said. “You’ve accomplished a great many difficult things with a gun to your head. But I see your point. It was a production of… _La Traviata_. Your friend with an extra ticket dragged you along, we met during intermission, and we talked about all the fun we weren’t having. Better?”

“Yes, sir.” Jacobi eyed the next item on her list. “So if we don’t work together, what do I do?”

“Up to you.”

“You didn’t come up with what I do for work?”

“I mostly use the wife excuse to gracefully leave functions when I get bored.”

“That’s what started this?” Jacobi couldn’t believe it—but yes she could, of course she could. “You couldn’t just tell them she was sick or busy or something?”

“Careful, Jacobi,” Kepler said. Shit, right. “I’ve gone to enough events alone that one more would tip the scale and require more suspension of disbelief than I could reasonably expect from people.”

“Okay, sure, so the details are…”

“Yours to fill in. Make them close to the truth where you can, why bother remembering too much trivia for a non-technical job that only takes a few hours?”

“Right. Got it, sir.”

“Now if that’s all, you’re dismissed.”

Jacobi was almost at the door when she remembered something else. “Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“The clothes, I don’t—uh, I don’t really wear dresses. Ever.”

“Is that all?” Kepler said. “As long as we don't show up in the same suit.”

* * *

Jacobi leaned her head against the car window, watching dead trees whip by as blurred silhouettes against the darkening, overcast sky. Some kind of jazz was playing over the car speakers, not normally her thing, but combined with the view it was pretty relaxing. It was also making it pretty difficult to ignore the question that was rattling around her skull.

_Screw it_ , she decided. “Sir?”

“You’re not going to call me “sir” at the party, are you, Daniel?" Kepler didn't take her eyes off the road. "That seems like the kind of thing that might raise some eyebrows.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’ll keep addressing you this way for now. I need another minute before I jump all the way into the uncanny valley.”

“Suit yourself. You were saying?”

“Why choose me for this? Why not Maxwell?”

“Are you getting cold feet, Jacobi?”  
  


“No!” Jacobi answered, too fast. She tried again. “No, sir. I was just wondering.”

“I’m surprised you’d ask, Ms. Jacobi. You’re the obvious choice.”

“Am I?” She wasn’t going to get her hopes up over this, she was not, she was not…

“Of course! Maxwell is extremely capable at what she does. However, what she does, does not include social situations.”

“Ah.” Well, that was sort of like a compliment, could have been worse.

“And you’ve worked with me longer,” Kepler said, still keeping her eyes on the road. “When we have to improvise—when, not if—I need someone who knows me, who knows how I work, who I can trust to roll with whatever I throw at them. These are dangerous people, Jacobi. They have something we need, and if they suspect that I’ve lied to them about anything more than how nice they look, not only are we never going to get it, but we will be in incredible danger.”

“Sure, sure, sounds like a Monday,” Jacobi said.

"We have had some fairly exciting Mondays, haven't we?" Kepler said. 

* * *

Jacobi whistled when they got into the room—or, really, the suite. Kepler cleared her throat and signaled her to start sweeping for bugs when she turned to look. Once they’d finished, Jacobi finished her thought.

“Hell of a budget for this.”

“It was deemed appropriate and officially approved,” Kepler said. “This way neither of us has to take the floor.”

Right, the bed situation. The thing Jacobi had definitely not been thinking about all week. She had absolutely not played out arguments about it in her head.

_“Sir, I should take the floor.”_

_“Jacobi, I am your commanding officer, and I am telling you to take the bed. Believe me, I’ve slept on worse.”_

_“But you don’t have to.”_

_“I mean it, Jacobi, I’ve already put you in an uncomfortable position, I’m not going to be responsible for messing your back up, too.”_

_“If you’re that worried about it, then why don’t you put me in a more comfortable position?”_

It… kind of spiraled, from there.

“I’m going to shower,” Kepler said. “We have just enough time for you to get a shower in, too, if you’re quick about it.” She disappeared into the bathroom and Jacobi collapsed on the king-size bed. This was going to be… something.

She wanted to whistle again when she saw herself in the suit. _Goddamn_. Not like she had a lot of occasion to wear it. For a second, she flashed back to her senior year of high school, when her parents had essentially wrestled her into the least sparkly, least fluffy prom dress she could find. She’d stepped on the hem when she got out of the car at the function hall, tearing the tulle and ruining the skirt. Someone had brought along a miniature pair of scissors, and it took them twenty minutes to cut all the layers off. Jacobi had ended up with a less confining but stupid-looking dress and two pissed off parents.

God, if baby Danny could see her now…

Well, best not to get ahead of herself. She still had to figure out this bow tie—real, not a clip-on, a pain in the ass.

“Almost ready, Daniel?” 

Jacobi jumped. “You know, it’s spooky when you use my first name?” She ducked her head, pretending to fuss with the tie.

“I have to practice, don’t I?” Kepler walked up to her. “Here, let me.” Jacobi handed over the bow tie and Kepler got to work immediately. “Or would you prefer Mrs. Kepler?”

Jacobi kept her eyes from widening like a cartoon character, but only just, and she could still feel her face twitch. “I mean, whichever. Guess I’ll have to get used to it, right?”

“And soon!” Kepler said, chipper and unflappable and so freaking close to her face. When she stepped back, she gave Jacobi a quick once-over, as though she was looking over plans for a job. "Looking sharp, Jacobi."

"I have one nice suit, glad to know it's working for me," Jacobi said. She turned back to the mirror and pushed an errant strand of hair (that may or may not have existed) back into place. "You, uh, you too," she muttered.

Kepler smoothed her hands over the front of her jacket in the mirror next to her. “We should head down in no more than five minutes.”

“Yes, _dear_.” Jacobi rolled her eyes as Kepler finished with the tie. Then Kepler’s hand was on her cheek and she forgot to breathe.

“That’s the spirit,” Kepler said, beaming, and walked back toward the closet. “Almost forgot." She she emerged carrying a small, unassuming box. “Left hand, please.” Jacobi reminded herself to breathe normally as Kepler slid the gold band onto her ring finger.

“I’m more of a silver kind of gal, usually,” Jacobi joked. She looked up. “You don’t have one?”

“These people have seen me before,” Kepler said. “As far as they know, I don’t wear it to work as a policy, and recently, I found that it didn’t fit right, and I haven’t gotten around to resizing it.”

“Kind of a complicated explanation,” Jacobi said. “You could have just said you don’t like wearing it.”

“Oh, but I do like wearing it,” Kepler said. “Who wouldn’t want a reminder of their lovely wife while they’re buried under paperwork?”

“'Lovely?' Gee, sir, you’re going to make me blush.”

“Even better.” Kepler smiled. “Ready, Mrs. Kepler?”

Good question. “Ready, _honey_ ,” Jacobi said, taking Kepler’s proffered elbow.

“Warren! So good to see you! And this—oh my goodness, could it possibly be…?” A blond woman in a deep purple gown broke away from a tall man in navy and made a beeline for them, and Jacobi knew she was not going to have a good time tonight.

“Vivian!” Kepler dislodged her arm from Jacobi’s hand and leaned in for—an air kiss? Nope, this was already too weird. Warren Kepler was not an air-kiss person. Warren Kepler was a brief, firm handshake person. But nope, there she went. “Don’t you look radiant?”

“You clean up rather nicely yourself,” the woman purred. Her hand lingered on Kepler's arm as she leaned toward her in a way Jacobi was trying really hard not to hate. “But stop flattering me and introduce me to this _charming_ creature!”

_Bold of you to assume anything about me is charming_ , Jacobi thought, but she made herself smile as Kepler put a hand on her back.

“Of course,” Kepler said. “Daniel, this is Vivian Cooper; Vivian, meet Daniel Kepler.”

And that was something—not just the combination of her first name and Kepler’s last name, but that Kepler had addressed her first. She must not like this Vivian Cooper either.

“Ms. Cooper, so nice to meet you,” Jacobi said, holding her hand out to shake. Rather than take it, Vivian said to Kepler, “Isn’t she sweet?” and pulled her in for an air kiss and the lightest, strangest embrace Jacobi had ever experienced.

“Mrs. Kepler, so lovely to meet you at last!” Vivian gushed. “We were starting to think Warren had invented you!”

Jacobi looked back at Kepler, who was still (always) smiling, but now she raised her eyebrows slightly as if to say, _Told you_. “Have to correct you there—even someone as _capable_ as Warren couldn’t invent someone this annoying.”

Vivian laughed. “Aren’t you just a firecracker? Let me just go get James, he’ll be insufferable now he’s won the bet.” She clicked away on stilettos that were soon drowned out by the sounds of the party.

Jacobi turned fully to Kepler. “I hate her.”

“I thought you might,” Kepler said.

“And ‘firecracker,’ huh? A little on the nose, but—"

“I can add it to the pet name repertoire, if you like it.”

“Don’t you dare. Makes me sound like I’m ten.” Jacobi turned to scan the ballroom and try to predict the origin of the next attack. “Who’s James, anyway?”

“Her husband,” Kepler said.

Jacobi turned back to her, skeptical. “No way. She’s married and he’s _here_? The way she was flirting with you?”

“I believe she likes to stay in practice,” Kepler said mildly, “and a woman in a suit doesn’t make her husband jealous.”

“You know, I don't think I like him either. I thought you promised me good food _and_ good company.”

“ _I'm_ here, aren't I?”

“Anyway, I’m wearing a suit,” Jacobi grumbled, mostly joking, “and she didn’t flirt with me at all.”

“Well, it’s like you said,” Kepler said, brushing a lock of hair out of Jacobi’s face, “you are pretty annoying.”

“You’re the worst,” Jacobi said, turning again to look at the ballroom. 

"Rule number eight," Kepler said in her ear.

"Just getting into character," Jacobi said, glancing over at her. "It's a term of endearment, really."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Kepler said, and offered her arm. "Ready to meet some people?"

Jacobi had _thought_ she'd been ready to meet some people, but it seemed that she'd vastly overestimated her capacity for social interaction. Or another, more likely possibility: the problem wasn't her, but the people she was meeting. She was starting to think Kepler's little joke about accounting for the good company all on her own held a little too much truth, and Kepler had waved her off approximately a century ago to _mingle_. And now, Jacobi was trapped.

This was possibly the dullest conversation she had ever been a part of, and she’d once taken a road trip with a great uncle who told the same two stories over and over and complained if she put the radio on. Someone did ask how she met Kepler, and then someone else had asked which opera, and now the guy who’d just outlined the entire plot was in an argument with another guy about whether or not he’d just summarized _Il Trovatore_ , instead of _La Traviata_. The interrupting hand on her shoulder could not have been more welcome.

“Excuse me, folks, I need to steal my wife away.” Jacobi did not like how much she liked that. _It’s just that she’s getting me out of this snoozefest_ , she reasoned. _I’d be happy for anyone to save me from this._

“Thanks for that,” Jacobi muttered as soon as they were some steps away. 

“Think nothing of it, _dear_.” With a hand on her back, Kepler steered her toward the hors d’oeuvres table. “Ready?” She leaned in close to whisper in Jacobi’s ear.

"Oh, already?" Jacobi whispered back. "The time was just flying by."

The elevator ride up to the fifteenth floor went fine, with the staff key Kepler had gotten her hands on (Jacobi didn’t need to know how she’d gotten it). Getting into Vivian and James’s room was fine (“Seriously? She’s that patronizing _and_ some important corporate bigwig? Never mind, I'm not surprised”). Breaking into the hotel safe was fine (“Did they teach you the magnet trick in basic, or was that just something you picked up?” “You know, that reminds me of a story—eh, another time.”). The retreat from the hotel room was… relatively fine. At a ding from the elevator, followed by Vivian’s dulcet tones, Kepler wordlessly turned and headed toward the back stairs, Jacobi following barely a step behind. The staff key let them in without a fuss and from there it was just a matter of getting back to the party.

Which was why Jacobi hesitated on the ground floor landing while Kepler kept on down the stairs. Kepler turned at the mid-floor landing, looked up at Jacobi, and jerked her head to the side. _Come on_. Jacobi glanced at the door and back at Kepler, but she just looked up at Jacobi, waiting. Jacobi shrugged and followed.

“Opens onto the ballroom,” Kepler whispered, barely audible, as they completed their descent. The basement door lock gave them as little trouble as the other had, but it creaked horribly. Jacobi closed it as softly as possible. They were in a narrow hallway that looked like it opened onto a larger space after about twenty feet. They got almost to the end of it when a door swung open somewhere ahead of them. Brisk footsteps approached. Kepler pressed her back against the wall and Jacobi followed suit. The door they’d come through was no good—it was too loud, and the footsteps were only getting closer.

“Sir?” Jacobi whispered.

“Shh.” Kepler stayed very still. Jacobi knew this wasn't the plan, and that was all right; if there was anyone she trusted to find a solution to this in the next five seconds, it was Kepler. Maybe they'd incapacitate whoever was over there—although, once they woke up, they'd have a story to tell. Killing them seemed excessive, and came with its own multitude of issues. Whatever Kepler decided, Jacobi would back her up, as always. Finally, she peeled off from the wall to get in front of Jacobi. “Nothing else for it, I’m afraid,” she whispered, and kissed her.

Jacobi froze for a moment as she caught up to what was happening, but when she did catch up, she mentally congratulated Kepler on her excellent strategy. One of Kepler’s hands cradled her face while the other was planted on the wall next to her head, so she encircled Kepler’s back with her arms and pulled her in closer. It was good, but—

“Sell it,” Jacobi whispered against Kepler’s lips. There was an infinitesimal pause, and then Kepler kissed her again, this time parting her lips and darting her tongue forward into Jacobi’s mouth. Jacobi groaned and kissed back, desperately reaching under Kepler’s jacket to pull her in closer and properly feel the planes of her back. She splayed her hands over the thin dress shirt, determined to appreciate as much of this as she was given, as long as she was given it. Kepler surprised her by sighing raggedly into her mouth and pushing one of her legs between Jacobi’s. _Hell, in for a penny_ , Jacobi thought, and slid a hand down to Kepler’s ass, pulling her closer, close enough that she imagined she could hear Kepler’s heart pounding against her chest. She definitely heard Kepler’s breath hitch and thought maybe she’d gone too far, but then Kepler started grinding down on her thigh. Jacobi actually forgot why they were doing this in the first place, until—

“Uh...”

She looked up at the mouth of the corridor and straight into the beam of the flashlight. “Ah!” She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, probably would have headbutted Kepler if Kepler hadn’t dodged.

“Ah,” Kepler said, much more calmly, shielding her eyes. “We’re… probably not supposed to be down here, are we?”

“Uh, no, sir,” the security guard said, lowering the flashlight. They looked more embarrassed than suspicious, Jacobi observed through the spots in her vision. This had probably gone about as well as it could have.

“Sorry about that,” Kepler said, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Come on, darling.” And she took Jacobi’s hand and led her into the better-lit parts of the basement to the stairs.

She didn’t let go of Jacobi’s hand even once they were out of the basement, but Jacobi wasn’t going to complain. Probably looked better to anyone watching. She snuck a glance over at Kepler. She was flushed, a little disheveled, and she looked… even hotter than usual? Well, that wasn’t fair.

For the first time, Jacobi felt a pang of regret that neither of them wore lipstick. It would have looked amazing smeared over Kepler’s lips.

“What?” Jacobi said when she realized Kepler had said something to her.

“I said, hold still and let me fix your hair.”

“Don’t fix it too much,” Jacobi said. “Sell it, remember?”

Kepler arched a brow at her, and Jacobi remembered too late that they weren’t actually on equal ground here, that maybe Kepler couldn’t do anything here and now, but she sure could reprimand her officially later.

“That would be… my suggestion, s- Warren,” Jacobi said, trying to walk the line between her undercover identity and her real-world deference.

Kepler hummed, then combed her fingers down over the back of Jacobi’s head. “Good thinking, Daniel,” she said, and Jacobi couldn’t help but shiver a little.

She tried to recover. “Hey, that’s why you keep me around, right?”

Kepler smirked. “Something like that.” And just like that, they were back to normal.

Jacobi was trapped in another inane conversation, this one about... suitable preschools, maybe? Mostly they were just throwing around names that sounded like either military academies or day spas, and having strong opinions about them. ("MacAllister isn't that bad. At least you're not Albert—he and Patricia had to settle for _Soapstone_." " _God_.") Whatever. It was enough that she smiled politely and did _not_ look like she had anything to contribute. The flash drive in her pocket felt much heavier than it was.

She signaled Kepler: _can we go?_ Kepler signaled back: _stay put, wait for me_. So she stayed put and hoped no one would try to involve her. She waited because she trusted Kepler and she was reliable and professional and definitely not moments away from feeling her brain melt out her ears if she was not rescued. And a few minutes later when Kepler put a hand on her waist to pull her out of there gracefully, she tried not to make her sigh of relief too obvious.

“Darling, would you like to dance?” Kepler murmured in her ear.

“Of course, honey, you only had to ask.” It was getting too easy to talk like this. Hopefully it would be just as easy to stop.

Jacobi wasn’t surprised that Kepler was a strong lead, as much as she was surprised that Kepler danced. The way she was moving Jacobi around the dance floor, Jacobi didn’t think she could have made a wrong step if she’d tried, and she was certain they were making it look good.

“Getting to be a little much for you?” Kepler said in her ear. _We have what we need; we can leave soon._

“It’s been _so nice_ meeting your friends,” Jacobi replied, trying not to roll her eyes, “but there are a lot of them, aren’t there?” _I’ll hold as long as you need me to, but the second you say we can go, I’m gone._

“Well, I do appreciate you clearing your dance card for me.” _Not yet; wait for my signal._

“Of course.” _On your signal._

Kepler led her through the rest of the waltz, unwavering, and when the music wound down, Jacobi made to leave the stance. But Kepler didn’t move. Jacobi raised an eyebrow at her just before the cellist played the first bars of a tango.

“One more for the road?” Kepler grinned. _Soon._

It wasn’t as though Jacobi didn’t want to see what Kepler could do. “How could I possibly say no?” She smiled back, but Kepler’s expression turned wooden for a second before she pulled Jacobi into position. Jacobi didn’t have much time to think about that as Kepler maneuvered her around the floor, pulling her close and pressing into her, finally ending with a low dip. She laughed breathlessly as Kepler pulled her upright and settled with her hands firmly on Jacobi’s waist. Kepler was breathing a little harder, herself, and the barest hint of a blush had taken up residence across her face.

“Ready to get out of here?” Kepler said. Jacobi didn’t trust herself to do anything but nod, and Kepler wrapped an arm around her waist and led her out of the ballroom.

They had to wait for the elevator, and it would have looked strange to separate now, with guests still milling around. It was only strategic, Jacobi reasoned, to lean further into Kepler, to turn to face her and pull her close, arms wrapped around her waist, lips at her neck. Good to let people know why they’d left the party so abruptly and why no one should follow them out. She imagined she could feel Kepler’s pulse quicken, but didn’t entirely trust herself to be objective.

When the doors opened, Kepler didn’t so much as glance at the security camera in the corner before sliding her key card into the reader, hitting the 9 and close door buttons, and pulling Jacobi into a kiss. Jacobi melted into her, her thoughts going soft around the edges. The trip up to their floor seemed to take no time at all.

Maybe they were being watched, maybe not. It was better to be safe than sorry, Jacobi thought as Kepler pushed her up against the door to their room— _suite_ —while she fished for the keycard in a jacket pocket. It was better if Kepler had full use of her eyes, so Jacobi sucked gently at her neck. It wouldn’t leave a bruise, but it looked good in the moment. Too soon, the lock beeped and the door was swinging open behind her. A pang of loss started in her stomach, but she tamped it down, pushing Kepler against the wall and kissing her as the door slowly swung closed. Even after it clicked into place, she kept kissing her, trying to commit to memory the way Kepler’s hips felt in her hands.

She wasn’t sure how long it was before Kepler pushed her away. “We’re out of sight,” Kepler signed. “You don’t have to.”

“We can check for bugs,” Jacobi signed back, “or we can keep going.” For all that Kepler was already starting to look a little wrecked, for a few awful moments Jacobi really thought she was going to go with option one.

“Ah, hell,” Kepler sighed, and pulled Jacobi back in by the lapels. 

* * *

Jacobi awoke to the sound of a shower running. She kept her eyes closed, cataloguing the sensations across her body: ridiculously soft sheets wrapped around her and pressed beneath her side, hair flipped out of its usual patterns, an exquisite soreness in her muscles and between her legs.

She’d hoped she would wake up first, that she could be cool and composed, get the first shower and walk back out wrapped in a towel with her hair still wet and breeze on through like they did this all the time. She would have said something like, “Morning, sir. Sleep all right?” You know, something _cool_.

The water shut off.

Jacobi’s heart rate spiked. Her first impulse was to pretend she was still asleep, but immediately discarded it. It might avoid an awkward conversation initially, but it wouldn’t help. Right, okay, if she wasn’t playing dead, she’d better sit up. She sat up. That actually wasn’t much better. The flannel pants and t-shirt she'd packed as pajamas had never been unpacked, and she couldn't see a convenient, hastily discarded dress shirt from where she was. The kitchenette! She could make coffee! Not that she was wild about the idea of walking on hotel carpet barefoot. (Not that it wasn’t a very nice carpet in a very nice hotel. That still didn’t guarantee that it was frequently cleaned. It was common knowledge and she definitely wasn't being neurotic about this.) Also, making coffee naked in front of someone else: weird, or not? You’d think the hotel would have some kind of nice robe for just such a situation, but no. Jacobi’s kingdom for a sexy robe, honestly.

The handle turned. One last hope: her phone on the nightstand. She grabbed it and unlocked the screen just as the door opened and Kepler stepped out. Jacobi didn’t look up, opting to glare at the screen, though she wasn’t really seeing it.

“Something the matter, Jacobi?”

She looked up. Kepler was towel-drying her short, dark hair, dressed in white slacks and a white undershirt and—no. Nope. Seeing Kepler naked was one thing, seeing her in yellow flip-flops was something else altogether.

“No, sir,” Jacobi said, trying to ignore… most of the things that were happening here, and landing on— “Uh, what did you call me?”

“’Jacobi,’” Kepler answered. “I did a sweep before I got in the shower, we’re all clear.”

“Good to know,” Jacobi said, flatly.

“Better get going, I want to check out by oh-nine-hundred.” Twenty minutes, that’s all she had to say. Twenty minutes, like a normal person.

“Yes, sir,” Jacobi said, and Kepler nodded back and continued toward the other room. Jacobi sighed and got up.

“Oh, and Jacobi?” Kepler said.

Jacobi paused in the doorway. “Sir?” Kepler was going to say something about what had happened last night. Why else would she stop an extremely naked Jacobi in the doorway if not to—

“You really shouldn’t walk barefoot in hotels,” Kepler said. “Not terribly hygienic.”

“Uh-huh,” Jacobi said wearily, finally getting into the bathroom and closing the door.

* * *

It was classical on the car radio this time. Something with angry-sounding violins—or maybe cellos, Jacobi wasn’t too sure. The dead trees they’d passed on the way weren’t graceful silhouettes in daylight; now, they just looked damp and lifeless and awkward.

Honestly, what had she expected? That Kepler would forget they weren't actually together? That this would mean something to her? Please. And what was she so upset about? If anything, she’d come out ahead here. How often did genuinely unattainable crushes turn into anything? If she’d gotten one good ( _really_ good) night and that was it, fine! And it wasn’t even going to affect her career!

“Jacobi.” 

“Sir?” Jacobi said.

“I want to make something clear,” Kepler said.

“And what would that be, sir?” Jacobi said. Wait, was she about to lose her job? _No, stay steady._ This wasn’t a problem yet.

“I want to make it clear that the actions you took to ensure this job’s success are… appreciated.” If this was a dismissal, it was going to take forever. Jacobi considered just throwing herself out of the car to avoid hearing the whole thing. “Your commitment to our work is undeniable.”

“Sir?” Jacobi said. “Right now I can’t tell if you’re giving me a commendation or firing me.”

“That _is_ what I’m trying to tell you, Jacobi.”

Jacobi's stomach dropped. “Okay, cool, well, thanks for the opportunity, it’s been a great two years, but this is almost physically painful to sit through, so maybe we can just not—”

“ _Ms_. Jacobi,” Kepler said, raising her voice just slightly. “Kindly refrain from interrupting me.”

“Yes, sir,” Jacobi said, unable to help feeling like a shitty kid getting chewed out by her favorite teacher.

“Now, as I was saying, your actions during this mission were beyond reproach.” Well, this was the weirdest way anyone had ever told her she was good in bed. “Mine, however, were not.”

Wait, what? “Wait, what?”

“Jacobi, what did I say about interrupting?” Kepler said, looking at her for the first time since getting in the car.

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” Jacobi said.

“You did everything that was required of you—everything I asked of you.” Kepler seemed to correct herself; it wasn’t quite a stumble, but it was unusual. “It was an egregious oversight, for which I am at fault, not to fully prepare for what this job might... entail. I am your commanding officer and it is my responsibility to consider all possibilities and prepare you for the same, including any less... conventional requests I might make of you. In that, I have been negligent."

Jacobi opened her mouth, remembered not to interrupt, and closed it again.

“For that, you have my sincere apologies,” Kepler continued. “I will, of course, facilitate your transfer to another team, with only the most glowing recommendations.”

“You’re transferring me?” Jacobi blurted out. “I thought you just said I did well, and you’re getting rid of me?”

“This isn’t about your performance, Ms. Jacobi—”

“Then it’s about you? Because _you_ feel weird?” She knew she should stop but if Kepler wouldn’t work with her anymore anyway, what did she have to lose? “We work well together, you’ve said it yourself! Several times! And I thought that you—”

“You thought that I what, Ms. Jacobi?” Kepler’s tone had been blank, neutral, before, but now it was actively cold.

Jacobi made herself take a deep breath and let it out again before she spoke. “The fireworks. Last year. You gave the distinct impression that working with me… meant something to you. It was a hell of an expense, not to mention a huge waste of time, if you didn’t. You wouldn’t do something like that if you didn’t get anything out of it.” She waited a moment for a response, but Kepler just kept driving. “Am I wrong, sir?”

“Do you think you know me well enough to say that for sure, Ms. Jacobi?”

Jacobi gritted her teeth. “Really? You’re doing this now?”

“I’m doing what now, Ms. Jacobi?” Kepler returned.

“Sure, sure, okay, so what did your ‘unconventional requests’ mean to you, sir?”

“Why would you assume they meant anything?”

“Be—” Jacobi breathed out hard through her nose. She chose her next words carefully, and spoke as slowly as she could stand. “If they didn’t mean anything, why would you have taken the time and the energy to _fuck my brains out_ if you knew you’d just have to fire me in the morning, when you, yourself, knew and admitted that we work well together, _sir?_ ”

The pause wasn’t nearly as long as it could have been. “Do you imagine I don’t simply like to have fun from time to time?” Kepler said. Stupid question was like a punch in the gut.

“That’s it, pull over,” Jacobi said. Kepler made no move to do so. “Pull the damn car over!”

“Why would I do such a thing?” Kepler said.

“Because I think I’m gonna be sick in the next ten seconds and it’s happening regardless of location.”

Kepler pulled the car onto the shoulder and Jacobi practically fell out of the car onto the asphalt. If nothing else, she was sick of being in that car.

The cold struck her like a slap, and soaked through the weave of her sweater. It was sharp and shocking and such a relief after the enclosed warmth of the car. She pulled it into her lungs and looked out at those dead trees as far as she could see and let herself imagine those were the only things she needed to think about.

The passenger window rolled down behind her. “Did you mean to miss those last few questions?” Kepler called.

Jacobi turned. “Here’s one: what the hell is wrong with you?” She turned back to the woods and stretched. The shitty thing? Well, the one that was coming up now, on top of all the other shitty things? The little bit of soreness she still felt would be _good_ under different circumstances.

“Ms. Jacobi, if you are not going to be sick, I would… _strongly_ suggest getting back in the vehicle.”

“I wouldn’t want to place any bets just yet.” If this was it, if this was her last time being in the same space as Kepler (except for maybe more mandatory company parties, except that maybe those glowing references Kepler promised her were not exactly on the table anymore, so yeah, this was probably it) she was just going to stretch it out a little longer. That and she was, understandably, still royally pissed off and hurt. She didn’t even notice that she was shivering until after the car door closed, when a heavy coat dropped onto her shoulders.

“This was a no-projected-casualties mission, Jacobi,” Kepler said beside her. “And mostly indoors. I’m sure that Goddard Futuristics would not appreciate my bringing back a frostbitten corpse instead of a demolitions expert.”

“I’m sure that Goddard Futuristics can eat my whole ass,” Jacobi muttered.

“How much longer are you planning to stand on the side of the highway in the middle of January?”

“Don’t really have a plan, that’s what makes it exciting.”

“Oh, if it’s excitement you want, allow me to raise the stakes.” Kepler leaned closer, but Jacobi just kept staring out into the trees. “Get in the car in the next sixty seconds, or I leave you here.”

“What about the frostbitten corpse?”

“Well, without a body at all, it’s very hard to prove much of anything.”

Jacobi wanted to call her bluff—even kind of wanted to watch Kepler drive away, watch her watch Jacobi in the rearview mirror, standing here with both middle fingers extended. But those fingers, all her fingers really, were starting to lose feeling and the cold had gone from refreshing to harsh and unwelcoming. She sighed and turned back to the car.

“Excellent choice.” Jacobi ignored that and got back in. The car was still running; Kepler must have known how easy it would be to get her back in the car. Asshole. Or maybe it was just that the temperature was barely breaking the double digits.

“Is the idea of working for someone else really so distressing to you, Daniel?” Kepler asked after a mile or two.

“Nah, I just decided a little fighting and below-freezing temperatures would be a fun addition to our road trip.”

“Huh.”

Jacobi let that sit, expecting more to come. “What do you mean, ‘huh’?”

“I assumed you would see things my way,” Kepler said.

“What _is_ ‘your way?’” Jacobi said.

“That due to the obvious power imbalance and potentially altered dynamic, you would almost certainly feel more comfortable working for someone else,” Kepler said, sounding as though she was carefully choosing her words.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"This has been you restraining yourself?" Kepler glanced over at her. "Granted."

“Okay, first: no,” Jacobi said. “I see how you might see things ‘your way,’ and objectively? You’re probably right. But no way, if it’s even a little bit up to me, will I stop working for you. With you. So don’t frame this like you’re doing it for me.”

“I still think this is something you need to think about before you can give your honest, informed opinion,” Kepler said.

“Fine! I think you do, too! You haven’t thought about this any longer than I have.” Jacobi sighed. “Just, could you tell me what you’re actually trying to say?”

Kepler paused, pursed her lips, and spoke haltingly. “You don't need to sleep with me to stay in good standing. On this or any other occasion.”

“Aw, Major, I’m in good standing?” Jacobi said. “I’m touched.”

“I am doing you the courtesy of speaking plainly, Ms. Jacobi, and I expect that you will refrain from your usual _quips_ if you want to continue this conversation,” Kepler said, sharply.

“That’s… that’s fair. Sorry.”

“Good. I also don’t want to give you the impression that the fact that we slept together will help or hinder your professional progress.”

“At the time, I didn’t get the impression that it would,” Jacobi said. “That’s not why I—”

“Why you _what_ , Ms. Jacobi?”

She hadn’t meant for that part to come out. _That’s not why I like you. That’s not why I wanted this._

“Well?”

“Sir,” Jacobi started, hoping that if this was good enough, Kepler would just forget about what might be on the other end of that sentence, “I would take a bullet for you. I would kill for you. I trust you. That was true two days ago and it’s true now. We can just forget this ever happened, it’s fine. But if you believe my loyalties have been compromised since last night… I don’t know how to convince you otherwise.”

She risked a glance at Kepler, who was nodding very slightly as she gazed out at the road.

“How was that sentence going to end?”

_Shit_.

“Tell you what, sir,” Jacobi said, thinking fast. “Earlier you said that everything that happened at the hotel was in service of the mission, but then when I called you on it, you implied sleeping with me was just for fun. I’ll finish the sentence if you tell me what you really meant.”

“Hmm,” was all she got in response. No sense in hoping but, eh. Could have been worse. “I just want to know one thing; I hope you’ll indulge me.”

“What is it, sir?” No agreeing to answer anything before she knew what it was, that was important.

“Have you ever told me… an untruth?” The road was straight and clear up ahead, and Kepler took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at Jacobi. Why wouldn’t she just say “lie?” Then again, it was Kepler so it made sense that she’d try to cover every possible loophole—oh.

_Last night: an arm wrapped around her back, lips pressed against the base of her throat. Kepler thrust two fingers into her, hitting the perfect spot_ and with a clarity she hadn’t possessed in the moment, Jacobi remembered _her own voice gasping out, unbidden, “Oh fuck, I love you.”_

Well, okay, this wasn’t ideal. Kepler was looking at the road again, one hand loose on the wheel, the lines of her back and shoulder suggesting the most relaxed version of her military posture, but… not quite. She looked brittle, somehow, a cardboard cutout of calm. Jacobi wished she knew which answer would shatter the illusion.

“Once, sir,” she said, and Kepler stiffened. “Well, on one occasion, I don’t know if you’d count them separately or collectively. When I was trying to get out of going to the holiday party, I didn’t really have to help Maxwell fix a cortico-whatsit, and my mother had not just died.”

“I knew about those, Ms. Jacobi,” Kepler said.

“Yeah, well, you said ‘ever,’ so in the spirit of accuracy…”

“And… on no other occasion have you told me an untruth?”

“No, sir,” Jacobi said, blood pounding in her ears. “Not to my knowledge.”

“And you’re… quite sure?” Kepler said. Interrogation edge was seeping into her voice.

“Sir? That’s literally the only instance I can think of, so if you have a specific potential ‘untruth’ in mind, just ask me about that.”

For one horrible moment, Jacobi hoped she’d ask about last night. _Did you mean it? When you said you love me?_ But Kepler only shakes her head and says, “Well, if you’re _quite sure_ , that’s… good enough for me.”

"So... you're not going to transfer me?" Jacobi said, tentatively.

"No, Ms. Jacobi, I don't believe I am," Kepler said, and at that, the tension drained out of Jacobi. If her senses could be trusted, she'd say that at least some tension had left Kepler, too.

Jacobi suddenly felt so very tired. “Okay, well, if it’s all right with you, sir, I’m going to take a nap.”

"By all means."

Jacobi tilted the seat back slightly, and shuffled to wrap the coat around her, registering for the first time that it was Kepler’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I don't always have the energy to answer comments, but please know that I appreciate every one I get.
> 
> The music I had in mind for the car ride home was "The Four Seasons"—I know they used it in episode 53, but I don't listen to a lot of classical and I like that piece. That's the only music I "heard" so feel free to imagine whatever for the car ride to the hotel and the dancing.


End file.
